Walk Away
by Allegra
Summary: Since Dov began dating Crystal Marks, he has been playing with fire and lying to those closest to him. How long before he gets burned and who will be there to pick up the pieces?
1. Chapter 1

WALK AWAY

By Allegra

SUMMARY: Since Dov began dating Crystal Marks, he has been playing with fire and lying to those closest to him. How long before he gets burned and who will be there to pick up the pieces?

DISCLAIMERS: I do not own any of the characters in this story. They are the property of Shaw Media and the series' creators, Morwyn Brebner, Tassie Cameron and Ellen Vanstone.

SPOILERS : This is a Dov-centric fic based around the events of Series 3, Episodes 3 & 11 in particular. This story was written before episode 3:13 has aired, so does not take into account any events which may delve into Dov's relationship later in the series.

GENRE: H/C, Dov/Chris friendship

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I live for hurt/comfort fics, so consider this a warning for what is to come! I am testing the waters in the Rookie Blue fandom with a short story, in an attempt to ensure it doesn't languish in my WIP hell. Also, I don't know if many RB fans want H/C fics & I don't want to offend anyone. Episode 3.12 was great but, as a Dov fan, I was disappointed in the follow-up to his storyline. So here's a bit extra! It is not quite a one-shot but the plot is thin on the ground and I am really doing it for the shameless whumpage. If you do not like seeing characters hurt/tortured, I would suggest you hit the back button right now. For those sick puppies who wish to read on, I hope you enjoy it & please review .

NOTE: UK spelling throughout. Most importantly, I am no medic. I have tried my best with the medical jargon & protocol but it's been a long time since I've seen an episode of ER!

* * *

A figure stepped out of the darkness of the alley, his face half hidden in shadow. "You just couldn't walk away, could you, cop?"

Dov squinted, trying to make out the identity of the man in front of him. The truth was, he hardly needed to see the guy's face to know what was going on. His stomach flipped in his belly and he could feel his heartbeat ratcheting up. It must be a friend or member of Tyler Marks' gang, of that Dov was pretty sure. They had already warned him away from Crystal the only way they understood and the lesson had left Dov with a black eyes and two cracked ribs. That had taken some explaining, especially in the face of the lie he had told everyone about visiting the doctor, podiatrist, dentist... That had been a fortnight ago and Dov was still feeling the weight of keeping the truth from his friends. 'Lies beget more lies', wasn't that how the saying went? He was already losing track of how many stories he had fabricated to mask the truth.

He told Staff Sergeant Best and his friends that he was mugged and had foolishly tried to put up a fight, momentarily forgetting that he did not have the authority of a badge and a gun on his day off. It was just another blow to his ego that everyone accepted his stupidity so readily. Dov Epstein – regular fuck up and hothead, always certain to do the wrong thing at the wrong time. He hoped this moment would not be another one.

Taking a tentative step forward, Dov glanced around for witnesses or someone to call out to, but it was late and the street was deserted. "Listen, man, just hear me out..." he started, lifting his hands in surrender. Dov prayed he could appeal to some ounce of humanity beneath the mountain of rage in front of him. Within seconds, he felt strong arms pin him from behind and something hit him hard on the back of the head. For a moment, Dov's head swam and he struggled to remain conscious but he could not fight the black dots dancing in his vision and he succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

Chris Diaz was fuming by the time he reached the Division 15 locker room. Was it much to ask that his roommate and so-called best friend make sure he had the truck back home by 8am? It wasn't often that he asked Dov to pull his finger out and do anything but, as with so many things these days, Epstein managed to let him down. In fact, he had not even come home last night and somehow that pissed Chris off even more. Images flashed through his mind of Dov 'getting over' his break up with Sue using some one night stand picked up at a bar halfway across the city.

"Wow, I could use a face like that to back me up on the street. Want to ride with me, Diaz?" Swarek drawled, his mouth twitching into a half smile at Chris' startled expression.

Diaz stammered, "Uh...no, I mean yes...I'm fine. I'm not..."

Sam waited to see if a sentence was forthcoming but finally put Chris out of his misery. "On second thoughts, speaking English is kind of more of a priority for me so maybe I'll take Peck."

Chris could feel his face reddening and he cursed under his breath as Sam disappeared out of view. "Pull yourself together, Diaz," he muttered. He hated looking anything less than the perfect police officer around his superiors and he certainly did not want a reputation for having a temper. Practising his best smile in the small locker room mirror, he straightened his shirt and headed into the melee. Dov and his emotional crises would just have to wait.

* * *

Dov was roughly dragged from the back of a van. He madly tried to put a radius on where he was by calculating how long they had been driving and at what sort of speed, but time was relative. It felt like hours since he had been accosted outside Crystal's apartment block. Through the rough hessian bag pulled down over his head, he could make out lighting up ahead and, from the echoing sounds of his kidnappers' voices, they were in a warehouse or some kind of cavernous space. His head throbbed incessantly and Dov could feel the stickiness of congealing blood in his hair.

He tried to steady his nerves but his efforts failed as soon as he began wondering what Marks' friends planned to do with him. If they were not content to just beat him up on the street corner then the young officer did not want to think about the worse fate he imagined lay in store for him. Dov had seen enough police reports from the area to know that these guys were not afraid to deliver their own brand of vigilante justice.

A heavy hand shoved him between the shoulder blades and Dov stumbled forwards. His wrists were zip tied painfully in front of him and he had barely any way of breaking his fall. He dropped awkwardly to his knees, his knee caps jarring hard on damp concrete. Dov concentrated on breathing, as each panting inhalation became more of a struggle beneath the hessian fabric. He tried to think of what he was going to say. He knew what they wanted...but he cared about Crystal. He had to make these people realise that. He couldn't back down.

Somewhere amid his mental ramblings, Dov noticed that silence had fallen around him. Apart from the sounds of dripping water and the distant whizzing of cars on wet asphalt, there was nothing. Dov took a deep, steadying breath, "Hello?"

Suddenly, the hessian bag was snatched from his head, leaving him blinking owlishly in the glaring, white light of a single bulb dangling overhead. A large man was towering over him, a balaclava pulled down to conceal his features from identification. Somehow, that reassured Dov. If the man did not want his identity known, that meant there was a chance that he would leave Epstein alive to tell his tale.

"Officer Epstein, right?" the man asked, his voice loud and booming in the vaulted space.

"Yes..." Dov replied, swallowing the tremor in his voice. He looked from the man to a pair of similarly dressed young men standing to one side. It was definitely some kind of warehouse, corners filled with rope and cargo debris. "Listen..."

"No, I think it is time you listened to me. We tried to teach you, Epstein. But you just don't seem to be understanding the lesson." The man leaned down, his lips inches from Dov's ear. "This time we are going to help you out. But don't worry, you are going to pass this exam with flying colours. Hell, you might even get a gold star."

Dov's throat tightened and he had to force the words out. "I know that this situation is fucked up...but I really care about Crystal. I wish to God that I could turn back time and do things differently. But I can't. I can't do that." His voice trailed off, losing conviction as he realised how pathetic that must sound to a bunch of thugs intent on wreaking revenge on their dead friend.

The man pulled back, standing straight so that he could peer down his nose at the officer knelt before him in a crude parody of supplication. Dark eyes met Dov's pleading grey ones and, for a fraction of a second, Dov thought he had actually got through to the man. Then, the leader jerked his head towards the two men standing by. Without a word, they hauled Dov to his feet and pulled him upright.

He struggled against them but did not stand a chance against two burly men, especially with a probable concussion and his hands trussed up until he lost all circulation. In a matter of seconds, his hands were hauled above his head and the zip ties slung over a hook. "No, listen..." he blurted out, madly searching for something he could say that would save him from what lay ahead. But, in truth, there was none. Peck had warned him of the dangers of getting involved with Crystal but Dov had lied to her and taken the risks. Now, he was paying the price.

Tyler Marks was dead because of him. No one could blame anyone more than Dov blamed himself for that day in the convenience store. Tyler was never coming back so perhaps this punishment fitted the crime.

The man stepped forward, still a good foot taller than Dov, and whispered, "My best friend is dead because of you. You cops think you're immune, that you can go around killing in the name of the law. Well, this is my courtroom. Take the sentence like a man...if you can."

Without warning, Dov felt his arms stretched above him as a rope pulley lifted the hook further from the ground. He struggled to keep his toes on the concrete floor beneath but another jerk lifted him clear off the ground and Dov was left swinging, completely at the mercy of men driven by hatred, vengeance burning in their eyes. The muscles in his arms burned under his body weight and Dov instinctively tried to grip the metal hook with his hands to alleviate some of the pain, but there was no escape.

Then came the first blow.

* * *

Chris Diaz's shift had been uneventful – desk work, pounding the streets and picking on petty criminals or minor traffic infractions. His annoyance at Dov had worn off but it had given rise to questions about whether it was time to find another roommate. He and Epstein were great friends but, when it came down to who was doing the shopping or changing the toilet roll, Diaz found himself turning into a nagging house husband. He hated it; hated Dov for being so forgetful and inconsiderate but hated himself even more for the character he ended up playing.

However, there were two major problems attached to looking for a new roommate: how to break it to Dov and still keep their friendship intact and who to replace him with. The first was definitely the hardest and perhaps the principle reason Chris had not considered ousting his friend from the nest sooner.

Ever since the Tyler Marks' shooting, Dov had been all over the place. He was unreliable, thoughtless and distracted. For a while, Chris had tried to be a good friend. He couldn't imagine how hard it must be to live with shooting someone erroneously but, when Dov refused to open up and behaved outwardly as if everything was okay, it became harder and harder to deal with the fallout. How could you help someone who was determined to ignore the problem? Then, there had been the break up with Sue, who was probably the best thing to happen to Dov since joining the force. He had even tried to make amends with Tyler's sister and got himself in even more trouble. He seemed to be on a path of self-destruction and Chris did not know how much longer he could stand by and watch, especially when Dov's thoughtlessness was affecting him directly.

Like today. Staff Sergeant Best had caught him arriving late. Chris Diaz prided himself on being punctual, reliable and willing. If Dov hadn't taken off with his truck, he would have been on time as always. It was damned typical that the Sergeant would see him on the one day that he broke his track record. Plus, now he was forced to walk home in the rain because he didn't have a ride. Chris prayed that his truck was outside the apartment by the time he got home or Dov was going to be packing his bags tonight.

Half an hour later, soaked to the skin and freezing cold, Chris stared at the empty space where his truck ought to be. Twenty four hours?! What the hell was Dov playing at? Jamming his key in the front door lock, he squelched upstairs. Right now, he wanted nothing more than a hot shower. "Dov?" he called, not really expecting an answer. In fact, he hoped he did not get one. If Dov was here _without_ the truck, Chris did not want to contemplate what state it must be in and where it had been left.

After a long soak under the hottest shower he could muster, Chris set about fixing dinner with the bizarre array of items left in the refrigerator. Thunder chimed in over the heavy sound of rain and he almost missed the buzz of his cell phone vibrating on the counter top. There was no caller ID and Chris was tempted to leave it. If he did not know the caller well enough to have their number in his phone, he wasn't interested in speaking to them right now. By the time he had washed his hands of tomato juices, the person had called off. A few moments later, the phone began vibrating once more and the same number glared from the display.

Against his better judgement, Chris picked up. "Yes?" There was background noise, some kind of scuffling. "Hello?" There was no answer but a rasping sound , almost like heavy breathing was faint as if the person were holding the phone away from their mouth. "Who is this?" Chris demanded. The breathing sound was gone and there was only indiscernible white noise. It sounded like someone had left the phone in their pocket and had called a random number so Diaz ended the call and went back to his dinner.

He was settled in front of the television, listening to the torrential rain beating against the window, when his cell phone rang again. The same number showed up and Chris picked it up, wearily, ready to bawl out whoever was wasting his time at the other end. "Whoever this is, you should know that I am a police officer and...!"

"Chris?" came a thin voice from the other end of the line.

"Dov?" Chris replied, shocked. Then, he remembered all the anger he had been feeling earlier and a torrent was unleashed that he almost had no control of. "Where the hell have you been?! I was late for shift without the truck, you missed work. Best is going to have your hide..."

"Chris...will you come get me?" Dov asked, his voice barely audible above the sound of the television.

Diaz hit the mute button and shook his head, "You're kidding me, right?! You go off on some bender to try and _not_ deal with your shit, leave me out to dry and now you expect me to come running to nurse you back from a hangover?! You are unbelievable, you know that..." Chris stopped short when he heard a hacking cough from the other end of the line and the sound of Dov's laboured breathing. "Dov?" he called, a hint of anxiety betraying his angry tirade. "Are you there?"

"Please..." Dov breathed, his voice cracking with desperation. "It's not like that..."

Chris could feel himself caving. He could give Dov the full 3D, surround sound experience of his wrath once he got him home. But, no matter how useless his friend was, Diaz was never going to leave Epstein to puke his guts up on the sidewalk in weather like this. "Fine, fine, where are you? I'll have to take a cab, so you owe me. Where are you?" He waited for an answer. "Dov? Don't pass out on me, man. Where are you?"

Something akin to a whimper escaped Dov's lips, "I don't know. I don't know where I am."

Dov was a lot of things but outwardly emotional was not one of them. He was a happy drunk and he avoided deep and meaningful conversations as if they carried the bubonic plague. It scared Chris more than he liked to hear his friend sounding so vulnerable. Maybe the dam had finally broken and Dov was confronting his feelings about the shooting, Sue, his career. "Okay, okay. Look around you. Is there a landmark or anything you recognise?" Chris pressed the phone to his ear, listening to the wheezing breaths coming from the other end. "Dov! Look around you. What do you see?"

"Nothing...there's nothin..." Dov murmured, distractedly.

Chris fought back the urge to shout at his incoherent friend. He could tell that Dov was in a bad way, probably self inflicted, but he needed to find some way of getting to him. Suddenly, an idea burst into his head. "Okay, just hang on, man. I'm going to ask the station to pull up the GPS from your cell phone. I will be with you soon, okay? Dov?"

"'kay," came the weak reply.

"It'll take a few minutes. Just hang in there, buddy. Dov? Don't turn the phone off." Chris waited for some acknowledgement, worried that his friend had passed out. "Dov?! You hearing me?"

"Yeah...," Dov said, his voice thinning to a whisper. "Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't take too long, huh?" Chris could hear the crack in Dov's voice as he spoke followed by a sharp intake of breath.

"I won't. Just sit tight." Chris desperately wanted to stay on the line, but the apartment did not have a land line. He quickly wrote down the cell phone number, his brain half registering why Dov wasn't using his own phone. Diaz dialled the station and immediately relayed his badge number and request, trying to sound as authoritative as possible. He didn't think finding a drunk colleague who had missed a whole day of work was going to stand up as a good use of police time. Fortunately, whoever answered did not seem to know him and processed the information quickly. "Yes, Officer Diaz. I have tracked the cell phone to a warehouse on the corner of Bathurst and Lake Shore Boulevard West. Would you like some backup?"

"No, thank you. That's all I need." Chris grabbed his jacket and pulled the collar up around his neck in a vain attempt to keep the wet weather out. There was a cab already driving down the street and he practically ran out in front of the vehicle to hail it, stabbing in Dov's number as he jumped in. "Take me to Bathurst and Lake Shore Boulevard West please. Go as fast as you can." Dov's phone rang, each unanswered tone adding fuel to Chris' mounting worry.

In the back of the cab, he had time to pull together the pieces of the puzzle. Dov prided himself on his work and he had never missed a day of work without clearing it with the Staff Sergeant first. He might have enjoyed his fair share of one night stands but he knew how to find his way home, no matter how wasted he was. What was Epstein doing with a stranger's phone in a warehouse far from any bar? Chris could feel a knot building in his gut. He contemplated calling Division for backup but, if Dov really was just drunk, they would both look like prize idiots and Chris would have got his friend in major trouble at the station, too. No, it was better to wait. He was just overreacting.

END OF PART ONE

Please review! As a newbie to this fandom, I am unsure of whether anyone is keen to read more & feedback is hugely appreciated...and the muse monster will definitely be inspired by it, too!


	2. Chapter 2

WALK AWAY

PART TWO

By Allegra

See Part One for disclaimers, spoilers, warnings etc.

NOTE: A huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed. As both a writer & reader on this site, I truly value you making the effort to encourage & praise, when so many people treat stories like a free newspaper on the train. Writing this story has been very enjoyable & has put me to the test in trying to write something less than 40,000 words! I hope this chapter lives up to expectations.

* * *

Dov's fingers were so numb, he could barely release the cell phone from his fingers when Chris hung up. The zip ties were too strong to be removed with his teeth and, besides, it hurt to move even the slightest muscle. The phone clattered to the floor beneath him and his reflexive move to retrieve it brought on waves of pain through his back and chest.

Dropping his head to the concrete floor, Dov bit into his bloody, swollen lip, trying to quell the cry of pain bubbling up from his chest. He could not lose it now. He had to hang on. He could tell he was in a bad way and, if he fell asleep now, he wasn't sure he would ever wake up.

His left eye was already swelling up until the overhead bulb was little more than a blurry slit in his dimming vision. Everything hurt and it was hard to pinpoint the pain to any location on his body. All he knew was that he could barely move a muscle without almost passing out and he kept tasting the fresh metallic tang of blood in his mouth. Dov's mind wandered aimlessly, unable to focus on helping himself any more. He wondered if this was what it felt like to die. He had often wondered...after his brother's death. For a time after the funeral, Dov had been plagued with nightmares, each one showing his death in a different way. Even now, he would find himself daydreaming about how it might happen – a heart attack in his sleep at the age of ninety, shot on the job, a plane crash. Being beaten to a pulp had never even crossed his mind.

The tinny echo of the phone ringing brought Dov back to reality. It was becoming hard to focus his vision and he fumbled with nerveless fingers for the source of the sound. His head throbbed mercilessly and blood was dripping into his good eye. He brought his bound hands up to his head in an attempt to wipe it away but just touching his face drew a startled cry of pain from his lips. It was all Dov could do to stay conscious and ride out the agony as his broken body cramped and shivered in the cold gloom of the warehouse. The phone stopped abruptly and, with it, the young officer felt his lifeline being severed. Something deep inside of him cracked and he felt like sobbing but his body would not even give up a single tear.

The only movement in the emptiness, a fluttering movement above his head, caught Dov's attention. A moth circled the bare bulb with frantic beating of fragile wings. He watched it dance towards the light, then move away from the burning heat that singed it, repeating its sado-masochistic game over and over. At some point, Dov lost his battle to wait for help to arrive and his eyes slid closed.

* * *

The taxi came to a halt on the corner of a poorly lit street, lined with giant warehouses. Chris rummaged in his pocket for the fare and stepped out. Broken window panes made crude, toothy smiles beneath hollow rectangular eyes. The place was completely devoid of human life. How the hell did Dov end up here? He turned back to the taxi ready to ask the driver to wait but the squeal of rubber on the wet road was his answer as the vehicle sped away.

"Great," Chris muttered under his breath. He had no flashlight and no idea which building to start looking in. He felt the absence of his gun as if a limb were missing and wished he had at least told someone where he was going. There was a good reason the place was deserted. He wanted to call out for Dov but the prospect of shouting into the silence only conjured up horrific images of who or what might answer in his friend's stead.

Shaking the fear from his mind, Chris cupped a hand around his mouth, "Dov!" His voice echoed disconcertingly down the alley beside him and he quickly pressed redial on his phone. The tone repeated itself over and over but there was no answer. "Damn it," Chris muttered, taking a step into the alley. He fumbled to find the flashlight application on the phone and shone it ahead of himself. The white light cast an eerie glow in the darkness, illuminating bags of trash as if they were huddled human forms, drawing figures in long shadows on the walls. Chris shoved his over active imagination to the back of his mind and forged on. He found a door and his foot kicked something metal. Reaching down, he saw that it was a heavy duty padlock and chain. The chain had been cut and, from the condition of the metal, it had not been long ago.

His concern for Dov was growing with each passing second. This was no drunken night out gone awry. Recalling his friend's bruised face from the incident with Tyler Marks' friends and Dov's cagey reactions to any of Chris' questions about his whereabouts recently, a picture started to fall into place. Stepping into the warehouse, Chris shone his phone in front of him, carefully picking his way through the debris on the floor.

He paused and redialled Dov's number. There was still no answer, but there was a strange echo in the distance, in perfect rhythm with the dial tone. "Dov!" Chris called again, picking up the pace as he followed the sound through the warehouse. When voicemail kicked in, he cut the line and called again. Suddenly, a light came into view and Chris ran towards it, turning the phone off when he realised how close he was to the sound source.

As he entered the large room, Chris' gaze immediately fell on the twisted body of his best friend on the floor ahead. Dov's face was turned towards him, tracks of blood wet on his skin. His hands were clasped together in a mockery of prayer, but his eyes were closed. "Dov!" Chris shouted, skidding to a halt at his friend's side but almost threw up when he saw the state he was in. His hand trembled as he reached out to find a pulse, probing Dov's neck with his heart in his mouth. As Chris's fingers pressed against the young officer's carotid artery, Dov stirred and groaned. One, less swollen eye opened a fraction, revealing glazed grey irises. The pupil was blown, making his eye appear almost black in the stark light of the single bulb swinging above their heads.

"Hey," Chris gently coaxed. "It's me, it's Chris. Where does it hurt?" His hands ghosted over his friend's body, totally lost as to what he could do to help. He did not have a knife or anything sharp to cut the zip ties from his friend's bloodless hands. Dov's body was a mess. His face was a mass of cuts and blood was caked in his ears, nose and eyes, some still trickling across his face. Red welts covered his bare arms and he was shivering against the cold that seeped through the thin fabric of his T-shirt. "Dov? Talk to me, man," Chris prompted.

"Hmmm," came the lethargic, confused reply.

Chris punched in 911 with one hand while glancing about to see if Dov's sweater or jacket had been thrown anywhere nearby. He shrugged quickly out of his own warm wool coat and began to drape it over his roommate's body.

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?" a clipped voice asked.

"I need an ambulance to a warehouse on Bathurst and Lake Shore Boulevard West. My friend has been badly beaten," Chris said, trying to maintain control of his emotions.

"Okay, sir. An ambulance is on its way. Can I ask your name?"

"It is Officer Diaz with Division 15 of the Police Department. Please hurry!" Quickly putting the phone down, even though he knew he should have stayed on the line, Chris returned his full attention to his injured friend.

Dov's eyes were closed again and his breath rattled in his chest. Chris leaned close, touching a hand to his friend's shoulder. Immediately, Dov cried out in pain. "Agh...don't...God, it hurts. It hurts so bad..."

"Okay, okay," Chris reassured him, noting the awkward angle that Dov's shoulder was in. "Listen, I need to check you over. I think you have a dislocated shoulder, but I need to check whether there is anything I need to keep pressure on. Okay?"

Dov gave no reply, his breaths coming in harsh wheezes. Chris put a hand to his friend's cheek, jostling him just enough to keep him responsive. "Dov! Stay awake, okay? You have to stay awake. Talk to me."

"Mmmm..." Dov murmured between wheezes.

"Dov!" Chris shouted, using the only bullying tactics he had left to keep his friend coherent. "Talk to me."

"'Bout what?" Dov asked, his voice little more than a whisper. "I can't..."

"Sure you can," Chris said as he drew back the coat from his friend's skinny frame. "Tell me about where you left my truck." He carefully lifted the hem of Dov's soiled T-shirt and paled at what he saw beneath. His friend's chest was already showing signs of severe bruising but that was not the worst of it. Beneath lacerations from what appeared to be some kind of whip, Chris saw misshapen dents where Dov's ribs had been broken. It explained why he was finding it so hard to breathe and, as he leaned over to see Dov's back, he recoiled in horror at the criss-crossing lacerations torn into the pale flesh. Further bruising stood out on his spine but more disconcerting was that Dov had stopped shivering. Shock was setting in.

Turning his attention back to Dov's face, Chris concentrated on keeping his friend conscious until the medics arrived. "So, where is the truck?"

"Wha..? I din't..." Dov's brow furrowed in confusion at the question. His voice slurred and the words were barely audible over his rasping breaths. His skin was pale and clammy when Chris touched a hand to his cheek. Dov flinched slightly at the sudden contact. "Chris?"

"Yeah, Dov, it's me," Chris said as cheerily as he could muster, quelling his dismay that Dov did not seem to recognise him or remember where he was anymore.

"'m sorry...so sorry..." Dov murmured, losing control of his breathing in his agitation. Hacking coughs wracked his thin frame and tears squeezed from beneath closed lids at the agony it sent vibrating through his wrecked body.

"Hey, don't worry. Everything's going to be fine. Just hang in there, buddy. What are you sorry for?" Chris asked, terror gripping his heart to think that Dov might be trying to make some final confession before giving up.

"...I let you all down..." Dov slurred. Another sharp cough echoed around the room and Dov cried out when there was the audible sound of something cracking in his chest. Chris watched in alarm as blood sprayed from his friend's mouth. When the coughs subsided, Dov's breathing seemed to worsen. The rattling was replaced with a soft, wet sound and he hitched each inhalation as if it caused too much pain to draw a full breath.

"Take it easy, just rest easy. Dov, you didn't let anyone down. But you might do if you bail out on me now. You hear me? You've got to hold it together. An ambulance is on its way. Keep fighting, Dov." Chris wasn't sure who he was coaching more – Dov or himself. He had never witnessed someone so close to death and in such agony and, for it to be his best friend should have been unbearable, but he had to be strong. Dov needed him to be strong, for both of them.

"Chr..." Dov dragged in a breath, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His lips were starting to turn a pale shade of blue as his body slowly shut down against the torrent abuse it was going through. Breathing was becoming harder with each passing second and his chest felt rigid, as if it were filling with concrete. "Can't...breathe..." he stammered, panic washing over him momentarily. His good eye sought the shadowy outline of his friend hovering over him. Then, the light above him seemed to fade and the pain started receding until Chris became an even more vague blob. Merciful darkness was shimmering at the edge of his vision and it promised peace, a respite from the agony tearing through every muscle and bone. He could hear Chris' voice talking to him, more urgently now, but it was just too much to ask that he stay awake anymore. Dov sought out the darkness and let it wash the pain away.

Chris watched helplessly as Dov's face grew ashen, counting longer and longer between each breath drawn through his blue lips. No amount of coaxing or calling could rouse his friend again until finally Dov's chest fell and did not rise again.

Sirens wailed closer but they had come too late.

* * *

"In here!" Chris hollered, hearing footsteps rushing closer. Two paramedics burst into the room bearing flash lights.

One of them gently steered Chris away from Dov's side, "Sir, can you tell me your friend's name?" the man asked calmly, while the pair began checking Epstein's body for injuries.

"Dov, his name's Dov. He's not breathing. He stopped breathing... He's a police officer like me," Chris added, as if that should make a difference to the outcome.

"Dov? Dov, can you hear me?" called the first paramedic, loudly, close to the injured boy's ear. The other man produced a thick pair of scissors and began cutting through the zip ties circling Dov's wrists. Once his hands were finally freed, the medic pressed two gloved fingers to his neck. Dov's pulse fluttered slow and shallow, losing rhythm with each passing second. "Patient is unresponsive. No breath sounds, BP is fifty over thirty-five ." He peeled back Dov's eyelids one by one, flashing a light into each one. "Pupils are at eight, dilated and un-reactive." He moved his fingers through Dov's hair, checking for signs of head trauma. "He's bleeding from the nose and ears. Possible skull fracture."

By this time, the second medic had torn Dov's T-shirt from his back and was assessing the horrific network of damage to the young man's chest and back. "We may have a spinal injury, definitely broken ribs. Let's immobilise him and intubate." The two men shifted into position and carefully rolled Dov onto a backboard. Chris watched as they rearranged his friend's lifeless limbs onto the stretcher, his eyes drifting to the hideous pattern of bruises and lacerations covering every inch of pale skin on Dov's chest. A blood pressure cuff was slipped over his arm, fingers trailing loosely against his thigh, harsh abrasions furrowed deep into his wrists from the unforgiving plastic of the zip ties.

One medic tilted Dov's face towards him, "He's hypoxic..." then moved to listen to his chest. "Probable tension pneumothorax." The pair tore into the wrappers on a variety of objects Chris could not identify from their medical kit.

"He was coughing up blood just before..." Chris trailed off, unable to say the words that Dov, his best friend, had stopped breathing.

"Does he have any allergies that you know of?" one of the EMTs asked.

Chris shook his head, "No...I don't know. Is he going to be okay?"

The medic glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "What's your name, son?"

"Chris."

"We'll do everything we can, Chris. Can you tell us what happened?"

"No, I wasn't with him. He called me, he called me and I just found him like this." Chris could hear his own voice cracking with emotion. How could he have thought all those terrible things about Dov earlier today when the whole time his best friend was being beaten half to death, choking on his own blood?

As they spoke, the men were already preparing Dov for intubation, tilting his chin up and thrusting his jaw out as much as they could. One paused to examine the side of Dov's face, "Looks like his jaw is dislocated..."

"We don't have time, leave it," one replied as he pressed a laryngoscope into Dov's mouth, feeding a small glowing tube in alongside so that he could see clearly. He began threading a plastic ET tube down the unconscious boy's throat but cursed and pulled back. "I can't see a damned thing, there's too much blood. Portable suction."

The other man handed him a small device, which he pressed into Dov's mouth and there was the gurgling sound of blood being cleared from his airway. The first medic began threading the ET tube once more. "I need a thinner tube, there's some swelling but I think I can get it in." He tried again with thinner tubing, finally removing the laryngoscope. "His airway is compromised. Let's try a needle thoracostomy." Looking over at Chris' bewildered face, the man beckoned him closer. "Son, we're going to need your help here. Can you breathe for your friend? Watch what I do and keep doing it. But whatever happens, do not start until I tell you. If you start too early, you will just fill up his chest with air. Do you understand?"

Chris nodded, swallowing back the bile building in the back of his throat. He held the ambu bag just as the medic instructed, concentrating as hard as possible on remembering the rhythm as he was shown. Having a job to do was reassuring somehow and helped him focus just like when he was in the field as Officer Diaz.

The medics moved to Dov's chest and Chris winced as they felt down his battered rib cage. "Pass me a sixteen gauge," one asked then inserted the long needle just above Dov's third rib. Withdrawing the needle, the man leaned close to listen for escaping gas. When convinced that the cannula was correctly positioned, he taped it into place. "We just have to hope that'll hold until we reach the ER. Okay, Chris. Start squeezing the bag now. That's it, you're doing great. Keep that up and do not stop until I tell you, okay?" The man smiled, reassuringly, before turning his attention to fixing a cervical collar around Dov's neck.

"Yeah, I got it," Chris nodded, vehemently. It was hard to reconcile this damaged, silent, pale boy with the robust, wise cracking friend that he knew so well. Dov lay oblivious to the ministrations of the EMTs, not even flinching when needles were dug into his skin and flashlights shone in his eyes. With each barked comment from one medic to the other, Chris's anxiety deepened as he realised how much danger Dov was in. He had been beaten around his head until blood seeped from his ears. He had suffered from such an onslaught of violence to his body that his lung was punctured by his broken ribs, a spinal injury might mean that he never walked again and Chris did not even want to consider the psychological ramifications when Dov woke up. If he woke up. The concept sent a shiver up Chris' spine. He could not afford to think like that. He had to be strong for Dov. He was going to be the best friend he could be and Dov was going to pull through, if Chris had to walk through Hell to make it happen.

One medic pressed the stethoscope to Dov's mutilated chest and listened closely for a moment. "We got breath sounds on both sides...wet, but we got him." He moved the flashlight to Dov's eyes again then felt for his carotid pulse. "Pulse and BP are holding. Let's move him." Turning his eyes to Chris, the EMT instructed, "Keep bagging him. You're doing great."

Chris followed their lead as the medics lifted the backboard and led the way back to the ambulance. The stark, sickly glow of the single bulb lit the scene of Dov's assault, now silent and littered with the aftermath of his rescue. Torn wrappers for medical instruments were strewn around the floor and sticky droplets of blood were splattered beneath a heavy cargo hook lowered from the ceiling. Sliced zip ties, laced with flaking dried blood, were discarded in a puddle alongside a blood smeared cell phone. All of these lay quietly in the wake of the EMTs' activity – evidence of the terrible cruelty Dov had suffered at the hands of criminals who clearly had no intention of leaving him alive. Evidence that his own friends would have to examine in an effort to piece together the truth that Dov had worked so hard to keep from them.

END OF PART TWO

* * *

If you have enjoyed this story so far, please take a moment to review. Just a few words makes a huge difference!


	3. Chapter 3

WALK AWAY – PART 3

By Allegra

See Part One for disclaimers etc.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: A huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far and for your kind words. They are the best nourishment for my muse! Sadly (as I figured) RB did nothing with the Dov storyline (perhaps because of his directorial desires?) so I hope this fic goes some way to filling in the gap. Be warned, I tend to go a bit overboard with the injuries the poor characters suffer – suspend your disbelief at the door!

I have noticed a changing tide on over the past couple of years, in terms of the attitudes when reviewing. I wanted to have my say somewhere but didn't think it was fair to put it at the start of this chapter because then it might appear that I aim my comments at 'Rookie Blue' fans, which I do not. So, I'm just going to say that my 'rant' is on my profile page if you care to read it. But I'm guessing you didn't come here to see me stand on my soapbox so please continue to the story if you'd prefer!

AUTHOR'S NOTE 2 : **Please remember that** **this is** **fan fiction, not a published novel! Take it or leave it as it is. My medical knowledge will be flawed, my police procedures inaccurate, but that's not what the story is about. **It is about whumping Dov good and proper!

* * *

The siren wailed, cutting through the stillness of evening, as the ambulance picked a safe path through thinning traffic. Dov's condition had not improved but nor had it worsened so Chris had to thank God for small mercies. He continued to squeeze the ambu bag, ignoring the twinge of cramp building in his hand from the repetitive action.

The EMT riding in the back began preparing an IV, inserting a large cannula into Dov's forearm and Chris tracked the tubing to a bag labelled 'saline' above their heads. In the bright interior of the vehicle, he was able to see how thoroughly Dov had been worked over. Even covered to the chest with a blanket, Chris could see welts standing out on every inch of visible skin. It was almost impossible to tell where the bleeding to his face was coming from, each rivulet had trickled into another until his face was a mask of congealing red.

So distracted was he by the catalogue of injuries before him that Chris almost missed one hazy grey eye opening beneath a bruised eyelid, the other already blackened and swollen shut. Realising that Dov was conscious, he quickly shifted so that he was directly in his friend's line of vision. "Hey, Dov. Can you hear me, man?"

The EMT moved into Dov's line of sight and withdrew his penlight, flashing it from side to side over his patient's eye. "Dov? We are in an ambulance, taking you to the hospital. Squeeze my hand if you understand." He pressed his gloved hand between Dov's still fingers. "Dov, squeeze my hand." He made no comment when the barely conscious man did not respond and Dov's fingers did not so much as twitch. "Okay, can you follow my finger?" the medic asked, moving his hand slowly in front of the boy's good eye.

For a moment, Dov did not seem to register anything that the EMT was saying and his eye moved unsteadily over the confined space, restlessly lighting on objects but not really seeing any of them. Chris could sense his friend's panic building and he was ready when Dov bucked weakly beneath the stretcher restraints. "Dov, look at me, look at me! It's Chris! Listen, you've got to stay still. I promise you, you are going to be fine. But you have to stay still and relax. Okay? Let these guys take care of you. I'll be right here." He watched helplessly as Dov closed his eye, unsure whether that was an acknowledgement or if he had even heard a word Chris had said. Taking his friend's cool hand in his own, Chris squeezed gently, willing Dov to hang on. The medic continued performing checks, repressurising the cuff on Dov's arm and recording his pulse rate.

Relief flooded through him when Dov's bleary gaze met his once more, this time focussing directly on Chris' face. For a fraction of a second, Chris saw all the agony and torture reflecting back at him from deep within Dov's broken body and he felt cold fingers curl around his. Then, almost making Chris question whether it had happened at all, the fingers grew lax and Dov's eye closed.

A shrill beeping sent the EMT flying into action and he grabbed the ambu-bag from Chris' hand. "He's bottoming out! We're losing him!" the medic called to his colleague. His fingers ran to Dov's neck again, "Barely a pulse..." then leaned close to the young man's chest, "...and no breath sounds. You need to stay back," he instructed Chris as he reached for a pair of portable defibrillators.

The medic unfastened the chest strap on the stretcher and pulled the grey, wool blanket down to Dov's waist. Despite the broken ribs that dented the injured officer's chest, he charged the paddles and pressed them over Dov's heart. He just had to hope that restarting the kid's heart did not do any further damage to his lungs, but there was no other choice. Dov's body jerked from the stretcher but the whining sound continued.

Chris watched with dread as the medic repeated the process three times, each electrical charge wrenching Dov's body upwards like a rag doll, his arms trailing listlessly against the railing of the stretcher. The idea that someone could be unable to breathe, for their heart to stop beating, all because angry men had kicked and punched him over and over and over made Chris want to be sick. Dov could die...beaten to death.

He watched the artificial puppet movements as Dov's body juddered then stilled repeatedly, the plastic breathing tube still protruding from his lax mouth. His face was almost unrecognisable beneath the swelling and blood and Chris felt an alien queasiness building in his stomach, like it was tying itself into knots.

Seconds grew into minutes, time taking on a new meaning when it meant the difference between life and death. Finally, the squealing transformed into a stutter and then repeating beeps, slow with a long gap between each one but in a rhythm nonetheless. The medic seemed to relax a little, replacing the ambu-bag and squeezing it firmly as he pressed fingers against Dov's neck once more to check for a pulse.

Moving his stethoscope against the unconscious patient's ribcage, he suddenly stopped squeezing the bag. "Damn it...he's cyanotic again. We gotta move...his chest is ripped to shreds! I can't do anything without risking further damage," he called to the driver.

Chris recognised the blue tinge that had crept back into Dov's lips, his skin now taking on a greyish pallor. As he reached for his friend's lolling hand, Chris felt the cold of Dov's blue fingers and rubbed them feverishly between his own. His voice spoke without his permission, repeating over and over, "C'mon, Dov. Keep fighting, keep fighting, keep fighting..."

* * *

As the ambulance pulled into a bay outside Toronto General Hospital Emergency Department, Chris stood back numbly as Dov was rushed through the doors. The medic who had been riding with him was barking out details of the fallen officer's condition and Chris tried to make sense of the words, "victim of assault...PEA from tension pneumothorax...GCS 3...possible pericardial tamponade... arrested once during transport..."

Dov was hurriedly wheeled into a trauma room where his motionless body was swarmed over by doctors and nurses. One nurse gently pressed against Chris' chest, forcing him away from the window. "Sir, let them work. I need to get some information from you."

Chris shook his head, trying to brush aside the shock. "Uh, yeah, sure, whatever you need. Is he going to be okay?" He felt a fool for asking, as if he hadn't been in the nurse's position a hundred times, just the messenger with no prophetic powers to say that everything would turn out right. Strange how, even against his better judgement, the words just slipped out of his mouth.

"The doctor will give you news soon. Were you the responding officer?" the nurse coaxed, firmly.

"No, no, I mean he's my partner but he's my roommate...my best friend," Chris stammered. "He called me...I found him like this."

The nurse patted him on the shoulder, steering him towards the waiting area. She jabbered on in gentle, reassuring tones but Chris's mind could not focus on what she was saying. His eyes kept drifting back to the trauma room door, homing in on the flurry of activity going on beyond. He accepted the clipboard the nurse pressed into his hand, answered her questions as best he could, but how could he think about insurance when his best friend's life was hanging in the balance?

He looked down at the papers, noticing how his hands were shaking. "Keep it together, Chris," he muttered under his breath.

The next thing he knew, warm arms were around him and looked up to see Gail's worried face peering into his. "Chris, are you okay?"

He nodded, taking a second to see that she was in full uniform. "Did the chief send you here? Are you on duty?" That was the problem with winding up on the receiving end of the law. You had no idea which way was up anymore. Was she here as a friend or to get his statement? Could she be both at the same time?

"Yes, but that doesn't matter, Diaz," she asserted. "I'm here for you." She reached for his hands, feeling how cold and shaky they were beneath her grip. "Oh, Chris. I'm so sorry!" Gail murmured as she pulled him into a hug.

Chris could feel his eyes prickling with tears and it was a struggle to swallow down the lump in his throat. He needed to stay focused. The last thing anyone needed was for him to lose control. Who knew how long it would be before Dov was up to talking anyone through what happened? He pulled out of her vice-like grip and ran a hand over his face, trying to muster the police officer fumbling below the surface. "Is there someone looking over the crime scene yet?"

If Gail was offended at being pushed away, she did not show it. "Sure, there's a team down there now. Why?"

Chris nodded, pulling himself up in the smooth, plastic bucket chair. "I want to give a statement of everything I know."

Gail's piercing eyes tracked his movements, sceptically. "We got time for that..."

"No, we don't!" Chris shouted, shocking himself with his own vehemence. "Gail, you know the stats. The longer we wait, the more the events will change in my head. We need to catch these motherfuckers and I don't want to forget! I don't want to forget a damned thing!" Lowering his voice, he glanced around at the suspicious faces in strangers turned his way. "I'm sorry. I just...want to help."

"I know," Gail assured him. "And you are. Let's go get some coffee and find somewhere quiet to talk."

"No, no. I can't leave. I haven't spoken to anyone yet, no one is telling me anything and Dov was so... He was really bad out of shape, Gail. His heart stopped in the ambulance and..." Chris ran out of breath, his voice tailing away to nothing.

"So we will wait together. I'll get us something to drink here, okay?" Gail said, rubbing gentle circles on Chris' back.

"I need to call his next of kin. I don't know how to contact his mom..." Chris added suddenly.

"Okay, I'll see if Dov's cell phone was in his personal effects," Gail replied.

"He didn't have his phone on him, it wasn't his phone," Chris replied, sounding defeated, as he dropped his head into his hands and fisting cold fingers into his hair. "Damn it!" he cursed, suddenly jumping up out of the chair.

"Chris, calm down!" Gail barked, pressing hands firmly against his shoulders. "If you're going to lose it, take it outside."

"No, no, I'm fine. Really," he added, looking into her stern eyes. Suddenly, his eyes drifted past her shoulder to a doctor emerging from the trauma room. Chris closed the gap between them just as Dov was wheeled out. His best friend was a mess and Diaz heard Gail's audible gasp when she saw how badly her friend was injured. Half of Dov's face was obscured by a plastic mouth piece and tubing which was attached to an ambu bag that one of the nurses was squeezing intermittently as the gurney was moved. Dov's hair was matted with blood that left smears on the thin sheet and his swollen eyes were discolouring to a purplish black.

There was no part of Dov's torso which was not touched with signs of violence and, from the look on the doctor's face, there was more than met the eye. "Are you the next of kin for Dov Epstein?"

Chris darted a cautionary glance at Gail. "No, but I'm his partner and room mate. I found him."

"I really need to talk to a next of kin," the doctor said.

Gail stepped forwards. "Listen, doc. I'm following up the crime. This was an attack on one of our own. We haven't managed to make contact with Epstein's parents yet, but I need a full run-down of what happened to him to see if it's a match with a similar incident we had a few weeks back," she added, ignoring the sidelong glance she received from Chris at that final fabrication.

The doctor stared at her for a moment then relented. "Well, Dov has bruising and lacerations over two-thirds of his body. As well as a dislocated jaw and shoulder, he has a dislocated lumbar vertebrae. He has two broken and three fractured ribs, not to mention a fractured femur. His airway was compromised with swelling possibly due to some kind of blunt trauma to the throat. He received several heavy blows to the head, which resulted in a seizure when he arrived, so we are taking him up for a CT scan on his head and spine. From there, we can ascertain whether a closed reduction or surgery on his spine will be necessary and whether the head trauma requires intervention." The doctor finished, looking at the shell-shocked faces of the two police officers.

Chris recovered first, clearing his throat uncertainly. "Is he going to be...recover?"

"Providing that the spinal surgery goes without a hitch, the rest of Dov's physical injuries will heal with time. My biggest concern is the trauma to his head. We will have to wait for the results of the CT scan before offering a more thorough prognosis," the doctor finished, offering the pair a small smile of reassurance.

Gail whispered, "Thank you."

"When can we see him?" Chris asked, knowing the answer would be 'how long is a piece of string?'

"If the scan rules out haematoma, you should hear something in an hour or so." The doctor gestured to the waiting room. "You can wait here for now or there's a cafeteria upstairs. Can you get hold of his next of kin?"

"Sure," Gail said to the doctor's already retreating back. She turned back to Chris, taking in the tension in his shoulders and the anxiety furrowed in his brow. Seeing Dov so broken had been a huge shock to her but she couldn't begin to imagine what it must have been like to find your best friend in a puddle of blood in a warehouse.

"Chris, talk to me," she coaxed, touching a hand to his arm.

Chris' gaze finally shifted from the elevator where the doors had long since closed on Dov. Tears swam in the young officer's eyes but he swiped at them angrily. "It's my fault...this is my fault."

Gail was expecting a variety of responses but nothing had prepared her for this one. "What do you mean? Chris, you can't blame yourself for this. You had nothing to do with it!"

Chris shook his head, refusing to let her words hit home. "No, no, you don't understand. I knew he was in over his head...but I didn't do anything. He called me, he called me and I was just so mad at him. He had borrowed the truck and I had to walk in the rain...I just wanted to shout at him...but the whole time, he was, he was being torn apart by those bastards."

Gail squeezed Chris' arm, "You can't blame yourself, Chris. I knew, too. I knew he had been seeing Crystal Marks. But that doesn't make us to blame. You have to stop talking like that right now. It's not going to do you or Dov any good." She put a hand to Diaz's cheek, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "You got it?"

Chris' brown eyes were pools of anguish and Gail could see the struggle going on behind them. Finally, he nodded.

Relieved, Gail let out a long breath. "Okay, let's take your statement. The others will be here soon."

* * *

Three coffees later, Chris' head was pounding. With Gail's help, he had gone through every detail of the events leading up to finding Dov, working out the timings and probing any moments unaccounted for. Neither of them had any doubt that the attack was a result of the Tyler Marks shooting. It was just a matter of finding some evidence to irrevocably connect Tyler's gang with Dov's torture.

Andy and Traci had come by as soon as their shifts allowed. Traci had visited the crime scene but forensics still had a lot of work to do before they could make a tangible link with the men who had attacked Dov before. Now, the four of them were just playing a waiting game. The chief had been in contact, hoping for good news to boost the low morale which had spread through Division 15 when news of Dov's attack reached them. So far, nobody had told them anything new.

Chris had been reluctant to stay in the cafeteria, worried that no one would know where to find him if there was an update on Dov's condition. He harassed any doctor or nurse who seemed otherwise unoccupied until Gail finally decided enough was enough and dragged him back to the waiting area.

Finally, there was news. The doctor appeared, looking weary but relaxed. "All things considered, your friend was pretty lucky. The spine dislocation can be corrected with traction so no invasive surgery is necessary. He suffered a small subdural haematoma, which we will monitor and may heal on its own. If not, we can drain the blood surgically. He needed surgery to repair damage to his lung, but all in all, he had a lucky escape."

Chris shot the doctor a cold glare, "You might want to rephrase that, doc."

The doctor nodded in sympathy. "Poor choice of words...but true nonetheless. Believe me, if each of those injuries had been even slightly worse, your friend would be paralysed, a vegetable or dead."

"Can we see him?" Andy asked.

"Dov is being monitored in the PACU right now but I'm afraid you can't see him there. He will be moved to a private room shortly and then I can allow one visitor. Did you get hold of his parents yet?"

"No, we haven't been able to reach his mom or dad. I've left messages though," Gail said. "Thank you, doc."

* * *

When word came that Dov had been moved from the PACU, there was no question that it should be Chris who went to their friend's side. He felt uncharacteristically nervous as he made his way through the hospital corridors and, despite being informed of Dov's physical state, it was a shock when he entered the injured officer's room and Chris' stomach plummeted at the sight. Swallowing back the urge to be sick, Diaz moved towards the bed and froze.

Dov was swamped by wires and tubes running in and out of him. IVs taped into each arm coiled up to bags of clear liquid beside the bed and a blood pressure cuff was wrapped around his right upper arm. Small electrodes attached to his forehead and scalp linked Dov up to the EEG machine, measuring his brain activity in colourful squiggles. The steady beeping coming from a second monitor assured Chris that Dov's heart was still beating on its own, a small miracle considering the extent of his injuries. A breathing tube was taped in place across Dov's slack mouth, winding away to the mechanical ventilator whooshing at his bedside. It was hard to fathom that, beneath all that, was the person Chris goofed around with, shared his romantic dilemmas and got pissed at. Would Dov could even still be in there, after all this?

The unconscious boy's eye was swollen and misshapen and the other eye was beginning to match it in colour, broken blood vessels turning them a deep purple against his ashen skin. Butterfly stitches held together a deep cut on his forehead and small flakes of blood could still be seen in Dov's nose and ears. Chris' eyes tracked mutely down his friend's body, grateful that dressings and blankets covered some of the damage from view. He had already seen firsthand the lacerations across Dov's back and could only imagine the state of his chest after a collapsed lung.

Dov's dislocated shoulder had been reset and tightly bandaged but Chris could not tear his eyes away from the pattern of mottled bruises circling his friend's neck. Tones of blue and yellow stood out against the whiteness of his skin. There was no doubt that they were fingerprints where strong hands had almost strangled the life out of Dov.

Chris felt the tension of the last few hours starting to melt away and he sank into the bedside chair. The doctor had been right, Dov was lucky to be alive. The horrific events that had led to this moment were over. Dov was in safe hands now. Chris had given his statement to Gail, a team were on the scene and determined to bring the perpetrators to justice. Even with guilt still circling his brain, Chris' relief washed over everything. He had one job to do. He had to be there for Dov, every moment of every day, helping put the broken pieces back together, until his friend was whole again.

END OF PART 3


End file.
